


Darcy Lewis Week Prompts

by enigma_eggroll



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Drabble, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma_eggroll/pseuds/enigma_eggroll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>7 daily prompts for Darcy Lewis week</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lipstick

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts can be found at http://fuckyeahdarcylewis.tumblr.com/post/27052570125/seven-word-prompts-for-darcy-lewis-week - figured I'd give it a run and play around with some writing exercises.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Counter to what people may believe, Darcy Lewis is not a high maintenance type of girl. Sure, she loves attention, and she’s not above getting her flirt on, but she’s sure as hell not going to fall over trying to be something she’s not.

Some people might consider her a hipster, what with her ratty sweaters and black framed glasses, but Darcy’s too ambivalent to consider that ironic. No, Darcy is an individual who believes that books are always better than movies, Han shot first, and lipstick is only good for one thing – jotting down reminders on the bathroom mirror.


	2. Hello

It’s rare for Nick Fury to descend on Stark Tower. He’s a beck and call sort of man, one used to hearing  _how high_  when he shouts  _jump_.

Natasha watches from the sidelines as he works the room, studying every move and weighing the man’s words. While he gives her no reason to suspect that anything is amiss, she can’t shake the feeling that there is a hidden motive somewhere – no, she knows there is, she just doesn’t know what, or why.

It takes most of the day for her to suss out the real deal, and when the moment of truth comes, it’s brief, but agonizingly obvious. The director and his new right hand are exiting the building just as Steve Rogers enters.  He’s with Darcy Lewis, and they are laughing and holding hands.  It’s the type of Hallmark moment that companies pay a fortune to recreate, even though the consistently fail to capture the magic of a smile that starts from the inside.

The Director intercepts Steve, and his hand extended in greeting. “Captain,” he says, sounding almost jovial. “Just in time. I’ve spent the day here with Agent 13 – she’s the team’s new liaison.”

He turns to the side, making space for the petite blonde agent to step forward. For the bulk of the day, Natasha’s felt sorry for the woman. She’ll never fill Coulson’s shoes, and it’s apparent that she knows that.

“Hello, Captain Rogers. I’m looking forward to working with you,” Agent 13 says. “And please, call me Sharon.” Following the Director’s lead, she extends her hand, waiting patiently for Steve to respond.

That’s when it all goes south.  The Steve that Natasha knows is an affable man, quick to greet and engage, but not today. He stares down at the woman his eyes wide and full of a strange mix that’s half wonder, half agony.

All eyes in the building are on this awkward exchange, all eyes but Natasha’s.  She’s shifted her attention to Steve’s left, to the fiery brunette who’s pulled him out of his shell and given him a reason to engage.  No one’s paying attention to Darcy, but that doesn’t mean she’s oblivious to what’s going on around her.  Even more surprising is the way the woman is handling it.  Instead of letting go or pulling away, she keeps a firm, but not too tight, grip on Steve’s hand.  Her smile is polite, but direct, and when she glances at Natasha, it’s abundantly clear just exactly what the intrepid Miss Lewis is thinking.

 _Director Fury has more of a fight on his hands than he realizes,_ Natasha thinks.   _Good for you, Darcy Lewis.  You never go down without a fight._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dabbling movies and comics...but what can I say, not a fan of the whole Sharon arc....


	3. Rain

Darcy loves the way the city smells before the rain.  The air is thick with ozone, charged and ripe with potential.  It ripples like a current through her body, tickling nerve endings and making her dance.  She’s most alive right before a storm, dancing and singing and laughing like a child.

“Come with me,” she pleads, tugging at Steve’s hand. “It’s beautiful outside.”

“It’s black outside,” he says, but he allows her to pull him to his feet.  “And it’s going to pour.”

“Since when are you afraid of a little rain?”  She’s walking backwards, leading him toward the steps, their clasped hands swinging easily back and forth. 

“Since when are you so enraptured with precipitation?”

She laughs and spins, running down the steps and out into the street.  The clouds are opening up, dropping fat drops onto her face and bare arms.

“Since I spent six months in New Mexico, and never saw one damn rainbow.” 

Steve catches Darcy around the waist and spins her in a circle.  She tips her head further back, lost in the perfection of the moment.

Sometimes, it’s necessary to embrace the dark if you want to see the light.


	4. Crimson

"Is it there yet?"

"No, Darcy!"

She rolls over onto her stomach, arms bent so that her hands can form a pillow under her chin. One leg dangles off the edge of the couch, and it, along with her barefoot, are yet another distraction. Steve angles his head just a bit to the left, trying to close out the image and maintain his distance. Darcy's been taunting him all morning, offering up little comments or glimpses of skin, anything that dances right up to the line of provocative and then flits back, all innocence and smiles.

He doesn't want to read intelligence reports, not now, but he has to. Darcy knows that, she even respects it, but that doesn't mean that she has to make it easy. She made that abundantly clear early, along with some very heavy handed allusions to hard.

She props up on her elbows, and the deep V-neck of her t-shirt gapes open. Her breasts, which are never not at the forefront of his imagination, are on full display, round and soft and right there, so close to touch. But he doesn't. Duty before play.

"Is it there yet?" she demands again, sticking her tongue out.

Steve throws the paperwork on the table, and leans forward for inspection. She's smiling, clearly thinking she's won, but he's not so quick to concede to her antics, especially not when he has his own bag of tricks. One easy tug on a wrist is enough to flip her up, so that her back is pressed up against the couch. With nowhere for her to move, Steve launches his own assault. The sucker clatters to the floor, deep red and sticky against the hardwood. Her mouth is sweet and warm, like strawberry jam on a lazy summer afternoon, and her body is soft, but this is merely a border skirmish, a way for him to call her bluff. Before Darcy can take it any further, Steve is back in his chair, body tingling, but mind focused.

Darcy slams her palm against the couch cushion and huffs dramatically, "You are such a tease!"

"Says the woman who's been flashing me cleavage and asking me what color her tongue is for the last hour."

"And you didn't answer!"

Steve laughs, and turns a page. Twenty more and then payback is his. Between now and then, well, it will be torture for both of them, but who's to say that won't be enjoyable later on, too?

"Crimson," he says. "Not quite red, but not purple either. Happy now?"

"No!" She's pouting, but it's all for show. "Fine, just for that, I'm going to go experiment with blue. It will match the metaphorical blue balls that your professional life is giving me at the moment."

She jumps up, off the couch and stomps into the kitchen. He can hear her, rustling through the giant bag of suckers he surprised her with the night before. There will no doubt be three or four viable candidates, and he'll have to endure another hour of oral onslaught, trying not to stare at her, or think about exactly what she's doing to that very round, very blue sucker with her mouth and tongue.

"Check and mate, Miss Lewis," Steve mumbles, as the words all blur together on the page. He may be the tactician, but she's the master strategist, and the next sixty minutes are going to be some of the longest of his life.

He may have won the battle, but she'll most definitely win the war.


	5. Vow

Why are you here?

God, it's stupid to be so freaked out over a mind game, a cheap trick meant to turn her around, but she is.

There is no reason for her to be here. Nothing driving her, nothing that gets her out of bed every morning. She's not fighting for America, or trying to prove that she's better than what her father thought of her, or to show that she's worthy of being a leader.

Even Clint and Natasha, with their mysterious origins are in this for something.

But why are you here, Darcy? The challenge was pointed, and it stung.

She mulls it over for days, sinking lower and lower into a dark swirl of self-doubt. There's nothing special about her, hell, she can't even remember to water the plants in her hole of an apartment. How is she supposed to pull her weight when she's incapable of taking care of herself?

Pepper ends up helping her solve the mystery - neurotic Pepper with her mother henning ways, who likes to hover over everyone and make sure that everything is buttoned up.

"How do you do it?" Darcy asks.

"Do what?"

"You're just you, a normal everyday Joe, but not one of them can live without you. Every damn one of the crew needs you. How do you do that?"

Pepper smiles and lays her phone on her desk. She's pretty in a waif sort of way, with an earthiness about her that lures people in. It's impossible not to feel comfortable with Pepper, to trust that she'll do whatever it takes to help you in a pinch.

"I'm just who I am, Darcy. If I tried to be anything but that, I'd fail."

When she smiles, it's like the Mona Lisa, lips pressed together as if she's holding back some great revelation.

"There is only one you, and it's easy to lose that in all this greatness, but I can tell you one thing." Pepper leans forward, her arms braced against her desk for support. "They are great, but we're normal. We've got strengths and skills that they can't have, simply because of their greatness. That's what makes us so necessary. We round out what they're missing."

"So you're the mom slash big sister…" Darcy prompts. She's trying to extend the logic, to figure out her slot in the whole scheme. It makes sense, there isn't a lot of normal, but it still doesn't help her slot in anywhere that matters.

"And you're the one person who can keep everyone from taking themselves too seriously," Pepper replies. "What's life without laughter?"

Darcy mulls on that for a long time, deconstructing and redesigning the argument. At first, it feels like a mulligan, an easy answer to a difficult problem. That's until she really pays attention, picking apart the details of each scene until she sees the fit.

It's kind of like Shakespeare, which makes her Falstaff to Prince Hal. She's a conceptual sidekick, one who lends brevity when times are tough. While it's not the most glamorous description, the mantle fits, and Darcy decides to slip the mantle on with pride. She makes herself a solemn promise – to always be the one who can look at the worst and make light, to embed inappropriate pop culture references and pull in the light when things get too dark.

She'll wear the clown shoes and blow up the whoopee cushion because that's who she is, and it's what she can bring to the table. It might not seem like much, but being Don Rickles isn't a bad thing if it means that you have a justified spot at the table and you never have to explain why.


	6. Saturday

How do you know when you're technically all grown up? Is it when you get laid for the first time, or when you pay the very first month of your rent all on your own? Is it when you buy more fruit and vegetables than cookies and frozen dinners? What is that magic line in the sand that grants you access to all the important events, like being taken seriously, eating at the adult table at Thanksgiving, and being offered a drink with real alcohol in it, instead of just a Coke?

"Good morning, Miss Lewis," the guard calls after you. You're late and you're juggling – your life, your coffee, your phone, but you still hesitate long enough to say hello while you dig out your badge. The guard smiles and waves you through without checking. "People could take a lesson in ambition from you, coming in a weekend and all."

You don't respond, just smile and keep on walking, right past that arbitrary line between childhood and maturity, and you keep on trucking.


	7. Live

It's cool on the roof, the rain earlier in the afternoon washing away all the heat and humidity that's hung over the city like a wet blanket for days. The ambient light obscures all but the brightest stars, but it doesn't matter. Darcy's gaze if fixed on the horizon and the brilliant flares of orange and red that rise and fall. Steve is down there somewhere, along with the others, fighting against who knows what.

There's never been a mystery about just exactly what it is that Steve does for a living, but it's never been a topic of conversation, either. They try to live a normal life, doing things just like other couples do. They walk to work together when they can, they buy groceries, they even painted the living room. In between, Steve disappears for days or weeks, and Darcy tries valiantly to pretend that it's no different than a plain old, boring business trip. Swap the stars and bars for a nice blue wool suit with chalk stripes and a bright tie, add a briefcase, and it almost rings true.

Almost.

But the illusion never holds, and she has to slip back into reality, one where people can die. She's stopped making him promise to be safe, because it's not a promise he can keep, nor is it fair of her to expect. She was fully aware of who Steve was when she started down this path, and while she didn't fall in the love with the icon, just the man, wanting him to be anything different isn't fair to either of them.

So she suffers in silence, torturing herself on the quiet roof in one of his t-shirts and an old battered pair of shorts while the sky downtown burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of a bigger idea, but I couldn't get it done in time for the final prompt day. To do it right, I'll probably have to turn it into a few chapters…if not more. Consider this a teaser (not a Taser), and expect something more along this vein, with a heavy dose of Bruce and Pepper in her for good measure.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading along, and for tolerating this odd lot ship that I've come to enjoy. It's really funny playing around with what if, and I very much appreciate your encouragement and kind words! Also, thank you to fuckyeahdarcylewis on tumblr for coming up with a great set of prompts!


End file.
